


Mountjoy

by missdibley



Series: Somewhere, Ireland [1]
Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, Unrelated (2007), Wallander (UK TV), Wallander - All Media Types
Genre: Dublin - Freeform, F/M, First Love, Ireland, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:24:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3897943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oakley and OFC Helen celebrate Helen's 18th birthday in Dublin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Liftoff

The texts from Oakley set my phone pinging and buzzing mere moments before the plane touched down and bounced ever so slightly on the runway at London's Heathrow Airport.

I'm not the kind of girl to break the law but I had to turn my phone on before we'd officially landed. The texts he had sent me while I was still at JFK were too good.

> _Helen. Darling Helen._
> 
> Oakley. Dearest Oakley. What is it? And make it quick - we're taxiing to the runway now.
> 
> _Tell me what you're wearing. I want to imagine what I'm taking off you when I fall asleep tonight._
> 
> Gray UChicago hoodie, t-shirt, skinny jeans, clogs.
> 
> _No sundress?_
> 
> It's too cold for going bra-less under a sundress, brat.
> 
> _You don't love me anymore, do you?_
> 
> Not true. And don't even joke about that, Oak.
> 
> _Yes, dear._
> 
> "Dear"? What are we, 64?
> 
> _Nope, 18. Or at least, I am now but you will be when you land here._
> 
> Is that right?
> 
> _Yes. Happy birthday, baby._
> 
> Almost birthday - I'm still 17 in New York. I'm gonna miss it - being 17.
> 
> _Why?_
> 
> Imagine all the dirty possibly illegal sex a grown-up adult man like you could have had with an innocent little minor like me.
> 
> _Fuck, Helen..._
> 
> Oh... I imagine I will. ;)
> 
> _I mean it. Please tell me you packed your old school uniform. Didn't you tell me you shortened your kilts so you could flash your knickers to those Catholic school boys on the subway?_
> 
> That's for me to know, and for you to find out.
> 
> _Texted like the child you are._
> 
> Just for that, I'm taking this kilt and shrunken uniform blouse that barely buttons over the push-up bra I brought and tossing them in the bin.
> 
> _NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_
> 
> Gotcha.

I looked at my phone, not even bothering to tap or swipe as I watch his new messages come in.

> _Here! Dad just dropped me off._
> 
> _Flight to Dublin is out of gate A11._
> 
> _That's down some escalators and near duty free._
> 
> _Erm, there's a lot of duty free._
> 
> _Shit._
> 
> _Fuck it, I'll wait for you at security._
> 
> _I'll wait for you._
> 
> _I'll wait._
> 
> _I love you._

I wiped the tears from my eyes, then looked up from my phone to find a woman with a kind face peering at me from the aisle seat.

"You okay?" Her voice was soothing. She was Asian, like me. Even a little curvy like me, which was unusual as there aren't a lot of not skinny Asian girls around.

"Yeah. Just meeting my boyfriend here."

"Me too." She grabbed her Kindle out of the seatback pocket and shoved it in her purse.

"How did you guys meet?"

"He was in Chicago, where I live, for a conference, and we just sort of hit it off."

"How long?"

"Since last summer, June, so 10 months, I think."

She offered me a stick of gum from her purse. I took it and tucked it into my hoodie pocket.

"How long for you and your boy?"

I counted the months in my head.

"We met last July, so nine months? That's seems so long ago."

"When you're my age, it's no time at all. Even when there's distance." She looked down at her hands, and flexed her fingers.

"How old are you?" I asked before I knew what I was doing.

The stranger laughed. "I'm 39."

"Really?" I whistled. "You don't look it. At all."

"Thanks! I think."

She stuck her hand out to shake mine.

"I'm Halla, and the boy, okay, the man, I'm meeting here is Magnus."

I smiled. I took her hand in mine and shook it the way I'd been taught.

"Halla and Magnus. Magnus and Halla. That sounds nice together. My boyfriend is Oakley, and I'm Helen."


	2. Jet Lag

"What is this bullshit?"

I could hear Halla muttering under her breath as we stood in line at security at Heathrow. We had just gotten off the same overnight flight from JFK, on our way to meet our respective boyfriends (do 39 year old women like Halla have boyfriends?).

Hall turned to me and grinned ruefully, wincing a little as the French lady in front of her swung an oversized tote bag that caught Halla in the shoulder.

"Sorry, I like to swear." She looked thoughtful, then continued. "Actually, I'm not sorry. I just thought you should know I swear a lot."

I laughed.

"Are you sure you're 39? My parents are in their 40s, and they never say bad words."

"According to my passport, my mother, and my saggy thighs, yes, I'd say I am." Halla drawled, then smiled wider and started giggling. "Sorry, I laugh at my own jokes. It's a terrible habit I absolutely refuse to break."

I had to laugh again.

"What's it like? Being 39, I mean." I had to know.

Halla looked down at the passport she clutched in her hand, then back up at me. She leaned in, close enough that I could see freckles on her cheeks. Asian, curvy, and freckled? It was like looking in the mirror. Or at least at a cool, older sister/aunt type who was wearing perfectly faded jeans, chunky ankle boots, and a cozy green sweater.

"How old are you, Helen?"

"I'm 17. Sorry, no 18! I turned 18 today!"

Halla hugged me.

"Well happy birthday, love!"

I nodded my head. "Thanks." I murmured.

"Best as I can tell, being 39? It's like being 17 or 18, only everything on your body is bigger, flatter, or lower than it used to be."

"Seriously?!" I laughed, guffawed actually, which earned me a few sharp looks from people ahead of us in line.

Halla nodded, almost solemnly.

"Yeah. But, like," Halla sighed, then ran her hands through her hair. "I feel like I did when I was your age about a lot of things. Like where my life is going, who my friends are, what I want."

"Where did your life go?"

"Short answer? College in Chicago, life in Chicago. I work in IT. Most of my friends are from school or work, are married, have kids."

"Do you want kids?"

Halla shrugged.

"I always thought I'd be terrible at it, that I'm better at being everybody's favorite auntie. But now I'm not so sure. Maybe a foster parent? I was in foster care for a bit when I was your age."

I felt my mouth go dry.

"Really?" I whispered. "You too?"

Hallas' eyes looked wet.

"Excuse me." She said, then pulled me into her arms for a tight hug. She rocked me for a bit.

It felt good.

"You okay now?" She murmured.

"Yeah." I replied. "Or getting there, anyway."

"Good." Halla released me, then looked at my face closely and smiled.

"What do you want?" I asked.

Halla rubbed her jaw, looked at something in the distance.

"I want to be happy. I want to feel comfortable. I want to be loved." Halla looked bashful, almost hiding under her hair, which fell in loose curls down to her shoulders.

"Do you feel those things?" I whispered.

"Getting there." Halla turned away for a moment to nudge her bag along the ground, smirking when it hit the French lady in front of us. She turned back to me, and took my arm in her hand.

"The thing is," she said. "I thought for a long time that I needed someone else to make me feel those things, to bring them to my life." Halla shook her head. "But I didn't. I needed to feel those feelings myself, feel them for myself. And it's hard. You have to work, and be honest with yourself. Almost selfish. But when you know," she shrugged. "It feels pretty great."

All at once the din of the airport, of people speaking and moving around came back, pierced this lady bubble of feelings we had made. We'd made it up to the scanner where we placed our boarding passes. Once scanned, we started putting our bags on the belt to go through the x-ray machines.

"You never told me," I said. "You're connecting to another flight?"

"Yeah, Dublin." Halla heaved her bag into a plastic bin, chucking her shoes in after. "Magnus usually visits me in Chicago, which is a long flight from Sweden. I thought for once I should come to his turf."

"So why not Sweden? He's Swedish, right?"

"Yeah, but he's a cop in a small town, and as exciting as I'm sure small town Scandinavia is, we thought someplace we've never been might be more of an adventure. So we picked Ireland! And Magnus wants to drive the Ring of Kerry, whatever that is."

"I'm going to Dublin, too. Boyfriend's English. We met here, in the UK. He's been to Dublin before, thought it would be a fun place to celebrate me being of age."

"Of age?" Halla smirked.

"Yeah." I whispered.

"Of age for what, miss?" Halla laughed. I could only blush in response.

Halla looked over her shoulder, past the security area where people who'd cleared it were putting their shoes and coats back on. "Hey, wanna see my boyfriend?"

"Um, yes please!"

Halla roared.

"Try not to sound too eager, okay? He's mine!" Halla winked, then jerked her head. "Over there. Can't miss him - blond curly hair, 6'2". He's wearing aviator sunglasses, polo and jeans. I don't think he's spotted me yet."

I turned my head, taking only a couple of seconds before I saw the guy she described. What the fuck...

"Halla?"

"Mmm?" We were just about go through the metal detector - how did she manage to look so cool standing shoe-less in an airport, hopping up and down as she tried to catch her boyfriend's eye?

"Halla, are you sure that's him? Because I'm pretty sure that's Oakley." I frowned.

"Wha..." Halla stood up on her toes, peering at Oakley, who stood, arms akimbo, a look of concern on his face. "But that's Magnus, I'm certain."

At that moment another man with blond curly hair, this one wearing a loose blue sweater, cargo shorts, and docs, heaving a massive backpack, came loping up. He hooked  _his_ aviator sunglasses in the neck of his sweater, then started scanning the line.

Oakley.

"Helen!" Oakley yelled my name, then started waving his arms at me. I shook my head and laughed, then blew him a kiss that he caught. I turned to Halla, laughing still.

"Okay, now _that's_ Oakley." I crowed.

"Good lord, girl, they're the spitting image of each other." Halla sounded incredulous.

"And they're standing right next to each other."

"What are the odds..." Halla whispered, stopping when Magnus removed his sunglasses. He raised his hands tentatively in a wave, looking a bit shy.

I turned to look at Halla - her pupils were blown, her right index finger tapping against her thigh, a dreamy smile on her face.

Halla turned to look at me.

"Yeah. What are the odds." She whispered.

Halla went through the metal detector, pausing for a second when the agent stopped her, then walked right into Magnus's arms while her stuff began to pile up on the conveyor belt that hummed and whined next to them.


	3. Spring Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oakley and Helen finally reunite at London's Heathrow airport, and make the acquaintance of Halla and Magnus.

As soon as I stepped through the metal detector in the security area at Heathrow, Oakley ran forward and grabbed me, his hands cradling my head as he kissed me.

First the top of my head, then my temples, my jaw, and finally my lips. He whispered my name as he did, breathing it like a private prayer.

Oh Oakley.

"Sir! Please step away and let the passenger collect her items!" A stern agent barked at us as we stood there next to the conveyor belt that bore the bins holding my bags, my shoes, and my laptop.

I chuckled, reluctantly pushing Oakley away so I could grab my stuff. Backpack slung over one shoulder, I clutched my laptop and shoes in my arm while I shuffled to the bench where Oakley sat waiting for me. I plopped down next to him, and laughed when he pulled my legs over his lap, plucked the clogs out of my hands, and tenderly slid them over my feet.

He smiled up at me, then leaned in close and kissed the tip of my nose.

"So... how wet are you for me, darling?" Oakley leered.

"Ass!" I pretended to swat him with my laptop, then squealed when he pulled me into his arms and began to kiss my neck.

"Oakley, there are people watching!" I moaned into his ear.

"Who's got time to watch two people go at it when there are planes to catch, duty-free to buy up?"

"Um, those people do." I grinned as Oakley jerked back and followed my gaze to find Halla and her boyfriend/Oakley doppelganger Magnus smiling at us.

I popped up, took Oakley's hand in mine, and returned their smile.

"Halla, this is Oakley, my boyfriend."

"Hey Oakley." Halla stuck her hand out, taking Oakley's for a firm shake. "Helen, this is my gentleman friend, Magnus. Say hello, Magnus." She winked at him.

"Pleasure to meet the both of you." Magnus shook both our hands, looking at our faces closely as he did so. "Halla tells me you're going to Dublin as well?"

"Yeah," Oakley replied. "I thought drinking and screw... I mean, partying in Dublin would be a nice way to celebrate Helen turning 18." He squeezed my hand.

"Happy birthday, Helen." Magnus sounded a little serious which, for a cop, made sense. Still, I giggled, more at the fact that he was like a grown-up Oakley. A hot cop version of Oakley. Jesus. I felt a heat between my legs, willing it to go away until later.

Halla playfully punched Magnus in the gut. "Baby, sound a little cheerful! It's not every day a girl has a birthday!"

"Of course," Magnus replied. He bowed, which had Halla giggling like a schoolgirl, and that in turn made Magnus flush. They were too cute.

"Well, we'll see you around maybe?" Halla asked. "If not, enjoy Ireland and again, Helen, happy birthday!"

Halla pulled me in for a hug, shook Oakley's hand, and went off with Magnus, their arms wrapped tightly around each other.

I turned to Oakley and smiled up at him.

"Notice anything about Magnus there, Oak?"

"Yeah - what's with the attitude? I thought he was going to ask us to call him sir!" Oakley snorted.

"Oh stop it. He was fine." I paused. "Pretty fine, actually. Hot, even." I giggled when Oakley looked at me in confusion.

"That guy? But he's so old!" Oakley pronounced dramatically.

"Oh come on, he was what, in his 30's? You sure you didn't notice anything else, maybe about the way he looked?" I hinted.

"About him? Not so much. Halla, though? Now she was a hottie!" Oakley enthused.

I gasped.

"You know, I should be mad, but I'm not." I purred.

"Why not?"

I pulled Oakley in so I could whisper in his ear.

"I think that's what I'm gonna look like in 20 years."

Oakley took a step back, looking at me carefully, then smiled.

"20 years, huh?" He mused, slipping an arm around me. "I think I'm good for at least that long."

I didn't know what to say, my mouth falling open in surprise.

Oakley, of course, took this opportunity to kiss me again, running the tongue around the inside of my lips, massaging my tongue with mine. He picked up my bag, then kissed my hand.

"Come on, wannabe future Halla. Let's go catch a flight."


	4. Sugartime

Helen insisted I have the window seat to Dublin, tucking herself between me and an older woman in the aisle seat who talked at Helen until departure about the tour group she was leading through Ireland and Scotland.

While Helen talked animatedly to her new friend, I slipped my hand under her shirt, stroking her back and fingering the band on her bra. I tried to slip my hand around to her front so I could undo the clasp, but Helen stopped me. She turned to me with a serious look on her face.

"Oakley!" Helen hissed. "Do you  _ever_ stop?"

"No," I replied, then kissed her forehead. "Never."

Helen frowned for a moment then began to laugh. She turned to the lady, wished her a good trip, then leaned into me.

She was asleep before we took flight.

* * *

"Oakley, isn't this amazing?"

Helen spun around the flat Mum helped me find on AirBNB. The ceilings were high, letting in the grey Dublin light that greeted us upon landing. There was a fireplace ("Ooh, cozy fires!" Helen squealed as the landlady showed her the kindling), a settee with blankets ("Snuggling!"), and a tiny bathroom under the sleeping loft ("Maybe I can give you a sponge bath?" Helen leered when we found that the shower was about an inch taller than me).

Helen oohed and aahed over the massive binder the landlady handed us, full of information to Dublin and it's sights and myriad attractions. I tried not to yawn, tried not to make it plain that as much as I'd love hearing about the special exhibits at the National Gallery, that what I really wanted to do was shag my girlfriend rotten for the first time in months and could this woman leave us in peace?

Well, shag my girlfriend and sort out the wi-fi.

After what seemed like a 30 minute conversation about the various churches (!) Helen and I could attend, I practically shoved the poor woman out the door. Locking up, I spun around and found myself alone.

"Helen?" I asked the room.

No reply.

I stuck my head in the bathroom, checked the similarly tiny kitchen, which was stocked with a few staples like eggs and milk and tea.

Nothing.

I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I took it out to read the message that popped up. 

> _Looking for this?_

Attached to the message was a picture of a woman's pussy, clad in knickers so soaked they were see-through.

Fuck yeah.

I stumbled to the stairs that led up to the sleeping loft, taking them two at a time.

The loft was low enough that I had to crouch, almost kneel. Which was appropriate considering the vision that greeted me when I arrived.

Helen knelt on the mattress, which was laid out on a low platform. She wore a white shirt unbuttoned to that sweet spot between her tits. Her nipples showed through. Her hair was loose, falling in waves past her shoulders. Her pupils were dilated, and her lips were parted.

She shifted onto her side, the shirt hitching up so I could see the knickers from the picture she had just sent me.

They were blue.

I pulled off my sweater, banging my arms against the low ceiling. When I winced in discomfort, Helen giggled. I growled in response, and her eyes grew wide.

I kicked off my boots, leaving my shorts on as I walked to the edge of the mattress. I hooked my thumbs through the waistband, pulling the shorts out and letting them snap back to my hips.

"Excuse me, any chance I could get some help with these shorts?"

In reply, Helen snaked her hand into between her legs, where I could see the outline of her index finger rubbing her clit under the filmy material.

"Sorry," she breathed. "I've got my hands full here." She bit her bottom lip.

I slowly inched down my shorts, letting them drop to my ankles when I got them just past my cock, which sprung free and bobbed, almost waving to Helen like they were long lost friends. Which they kind of were. I took myself in hand, stroking a few times, before I stepped onto the mattress.

Helen shifted so she lay on her back beneath me. She unbuttoned her shirt completely so it fell open. Her breasts rose and fell as she breathed, her body an invitation, welcoming me back into its heat.

I took the hand that Helen held out to me, kissing it as I knelt between her legs. I lay down on my stomach so I could rest my head on her thigh, just for a moment before I moved forward and pressed my mouth to the thin strip of cotton that separated my lips, my tongue, from Helen's slick folds.

Helen whimpered, pressing a hand to the back of my head as I nudged the fabric away. I slipped the tip of my tongue into her, slowly but surely beginning to suck on those lips, and suck on the nectar that flowed freely from within her. I brought my hands up to widen her legs, then slid a finger inside of her while I began to massage her clit with my lips.

"Oakley," she whispered. "Oakley... please."

I moaned, my tongue pressed to her clit, and Helen's hips jerked underneath me.

"Oakley, I need you inside me. Please!"

"Helen," I murmured. "I'd forgotten how good you taste."

Helen tightened her grip, grabbing my hair.

"Oakley, remind me how good you feel. Inside of me."

"Okay, birthday girl." I whispered.

I released Helen's clit reluctantly, then got up on all fours so I could crawl further up. I sat back, positioning my cock at Helen's entrance.

Helen teased her clit with a finger, her eyes dreamy and dark as they met mine. She gasped when I leaned forward, pulling her into a sitting position, our bodies pressed tight to each other. I worked a hand between us, grabbing my dick so I could slide it into her slick, wet heat.

Oh god. She was so tight, pulsing and clenching around me. She was so wet. So fucking wet.

I wanted to tell her but I couldn't. I had lost the ability to speak. And I think she had too, as her eyes were squeezed shut, her lips moving to make sounds I didn't recognize. Her hands wrapped around my waist, holding on, never letting go.

Helen rolled her hips, whining until I began to thrust shallowly into her. She turned her head, pressing it to my chest, bracing herself even as her hips continued to buck and jerk beneath us.

"Harder. Oh harder please, babe." She tightened her pussy around me and I nearly came on the spot.

I bent forward, lowering Helen first so she lay back on the mattress. I hovered above, bracing myself on arms so I could fuck her harder, deeper, better than we'd began.

She moaned in appreciation, eyelids fluttering, licking her lips. For every stroke I gave her, she returned with a squeeze, a clench, daring me to pull out, almost punishing me when I thrust back in for more.

When Helen slid a hand between her legs, strumming her clit, I let the full weight of myself fall on her. I grabbed the headboard then pressed my cheek to hers, panting in her ear.

"Oh god, Oakley, that's it." She purred. "That's right." She moved both hands to my ass, grabbing and squeezing, spurring me on so I bucked even harder.

"Helen," I whispered. "Helen, look at me."

Helen turned her face, opening her eyes to meet mine. Her dark brown eyes were black, the pupils were so wide. She kissed me, sucking on my tongue, looking at me, holding me with her gaze.

"Oakley!" She cried as I made my thrusts harder, faster, pounding into her so much I knew exactly where the soreness would be on her body, knew where I'd start when, after we'd finished, I'd help her recover and heal.

"Oh god, yes. Yes! Yes! Fuck me! Just fuck me! Keep fucking me! Ah! Ooooooh! Come! Come inside me! Please!" Helen exhaled, almost in resignation, as I jerked and came, my hips ragged and rough as my cum filled her.

Her eyes shone as she brought her hands up to my head, running her fingers through my hair. Tears filled her eyes.

"Oh baby," I whispered. "Please don't cry."

"But why shouldn't I?" Helen smiled. "I'm so happy."

I kissed her cheek, nuzzled her neck. I had no words. None but three.

"I love you."

Helen kissed the base of my throat.

"I know." She whispered.

 


End file.
